"I'll sleep when I'm dead!" cried poor FredFrom deep in his mildew-proof bed"No worms will there beTo keep company,For long nights that might lie ahead."
To sleep, wrote the bard, perchance dreamBut wake in a grave and you'll scream To snooze or not tooze, his Hamlet must choose But Fred doesn't care for rhyme scheme
They say that the bad will sleep wellOn nightmares their minds never dwellI'll bet Bush, each nightsleeps ever so tightthough I'd prefer George rest in hell
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